I lie on a white sheet, morning light brushing my skin like ink on water—my hair falls, my fingers trace the edge of an old magazine, and time slows. This is not content for clicks; it’s a haiku of stillness. No algorithm shapes this moment—it lives in the space between breaths, where wabi-sabi meets digital silence. I am not an influencer. I am the poet of the unshared glance.

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lily_of_kyoto_silence

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